


Mosaic

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [114]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Fic, Sick Logic | Logan Sanders, does this qualify as whump?, magical illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26319271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Talk about “tulip fever.”
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Dot (Cartoon Therapy) & Logic | Logan Sanders, Larry (Cartoon Therapy) & Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Series: LAOFT Extras [114]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365505
Comments: 39
Kudos: 407





	Mosaic

**Author's Note:**

> takes place about a year and change after the main story (specifically, the summer after Logan’s senior year)
> 
> For the prompt:
> 
> "Sick fic sick fic SICK FIC Do fae get sick? Besides the seasonal affective disorder and.... passing out in the heat? Does Roman willingly suffer for ice cream and deal with the consequences with the husband squad? I neeeeeed" (from “im super sorry the og prompt got deleted i hope you see this” alkjdklajsd)
> 
> The disease Logan contracts is based on a number of plant illnesses in the _Potyviridae_ family, most specifically the [tulip breaking virus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulip_breaking_virus) (also called lily streak virus or lily mosaic virus) because I like to think im funny, and also was inspired by a typo, if you can believe it
> 
> thank you to [@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com) for beta reading this sick fic that grew wildly out of control lakjsdkljasd

In his own defense, Logan never would have let it get as bad as it did if he’d known what was happening.

That there was absolutely no way to confirm such a theoretical was irrelevant, he would later insist when Thomas would call him a dirty fibber.

Logan didn’t get sick. He had ‘allergies’ - reactions to the anti-fae charms that Wickhills was constantly draped in that did resemble illnesses in some capacity – but he didn’t contract _diseases._ There had been the Eirwen-induced episode resembling some kind of sickness when he was in middle school, but otherwise nothing.

Logan simply assumed fae did not get sick. In hindsight, this was a rather absurd assumption for him to make, considering he knew next to nothing about fae as a species, regardless of being one.

He’d been helping Mom with dinner when he’d discovered the first sign, though he wouldn’t recognize it until much, much later. He’d gone to wash his hands, and it simply… hadn’t worked.

Frowning at his palms, Logan scrubbed harder. His hands were streaked very faintly with color – oddly not just the pinkish-clear of the tomatoes he’d chopped, but also a faint yellow, and maybe… orange. It almost looked like he’d stained his hands with particularly stubborn paints. He continued to rub in the soap, and the color didn’t fade at all.

“You okay, Logan?”

Logan considered.

“… Yes,” he said finally.

Stained hands were hardly a real issue. Whatever he had gotten into and failed to notice didn’t seem to be anything toxic. Hopefully the pigment would fade over the next couple of days, and Logan would simply have to pay more attention to what he got on his hands.

Drying his hands on the dishcloth by the sink, Logan turned back around toward Mom, and put it out of his mind.

—

Logan was acting weird.

Thomas _knew these things,_ okay – a lot of the time he could predict Logan’s behavior better than he could his _own_ , and he knew when something was up.

Logan had been quiet the past few days – and Logan was quiet a lot of the time, but he could also be a real chatterbox when he was excited. And no amount of prodding about bugs or plants or even his _boyfriends_ had gotten much more than a few minutes of way-more-subdued-than-normal rambling out of him all week.

And now, Thomas woke up at his usual summer hour of well-past-nine o’clock, rolled over, and saw Logan still in bed, sound asleep.

Logan _always_ woke up at sunrise in the summer – Thomas didn’t think Logan had ever slept later than him during summer vacation even once in their whole lives. So this? This was kind of freaking him out, honestly.

Thomas flipped the covers back, climbing out of bed and crossing the room to prod Logan gently on the shoulder.

Freezing, Thomas shifted his hand from the sleeve of Logan’s t-shirt to the skin, baffled.

Warm. Logan’s skin felt _warm_.

Thomas jostled Logan a little harder, the worry starting to edge into panic.

“Logan,” he said gently, “Logan, wake up. Come on, Berry, rise and shine,”

Logan made a displeased, petulant noise. Blinking his open, he lifted his head and gave Thomas a drowsy, confused look.

“Bug?” he said gruffly, sitting up a little, and Thomas pushed right past panic into outright _terror._

Logan’s skin was covered in streaks of color, like someone had finger-painted on his face. One particularly stark red streak went across his cheek, giving the impression someone had slashed at his face, and the whole left side surrounding it was splashed with pink and yellow and orange.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Thomas tried to keep his voice calm.

“How are you feeling, Berry?” he croaked.

Failed at calm.

Logan didn’t seem to notice. Frowning, he tried to sit up a little more and immediately swayed.

“… Less. Than optimal,” he said haltingly.

He reached up to brush his hair back from his face – he was sweating, Thomas realized, the hair plastered to his forehead – and they both saw it at the same time. Logan’s hands and arms were covered in the same colorful streaks. Thomas got the feeling there were probably more under his clothes.

“Huh,” said Logan absently, “They got darker,”

“ _Darker?”_ said Thomas, strangled, “How long have you had these?”

Logan blinked at him, dazed – his eyes were glassy, and it took him _way_ longer than Thomas was comfortable with to answer.

“… Few days,” Logan mumbled eventually, “Paint. Or something,”

His eyebrows knit together, obviously thinking very hard.

“It’s not paint,” he said slowly, “Is it?”

“No, Berry, I don’t think it’s paint,”

Logan’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything else. His head dipped suddenly, and Thomas let out a startled yelp, catching him.

“Hey, just lay back down, okay? I’m gonna go get mom,”

“ _No,_ ” said Logan, sudden and vehement, grabbing Thomas around the wrist in a grip that didn’t exactly hurt but was firm enough that Thomas knew he had no hope of breaking it.

“I gotta, Logan, I’ve gotta tell her you’re sick,”

“ _No,_ ” he repeated, voice cracking, “You can’t go, please,”

“Oh, Berry,” said Thomas, his own voice coming out dangerously wobbly, “I’ll be right back. I have to or I wouldn’t, I promise I’ll be right back,”

Logan relaxed a little – at the promise, Thomas realized – and reluctantly let go of Thomas’s wrist.

“Okay,” he said, small and quiet. Thomas’s heart broke just a little.

Thomas hurried down the steps, sliding on the hardwood floor in his socks as he barreled around the corner into the kitchen, and Momma and Dad both startled at his sudden entrance.

“Wow, buddy where’s the fire?” said Dad.

“Logan’s sick,” said Thomas, ragged, “Something’s wrong,”

Momma clicked off the burner immediately, and Dad put down the newspaper.

“I’m guessing this isn’t about daisies?” said Momma gently.

Thomas shook his head vehemently.

“Okay,” said Dad, “Lead the way, Tommybug,”

They followed Thomas up the steps, and Logan made a curious, pitiful noise when they entered the room. Thomas heard Momma’s sharp intake of breath when she saw Logan’s face, hurrying over to the bed, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and biting her lip.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said gently, “How do you feel?”

Logan took even longer to answer Momma than he had Thomas.

“… Bad,” he said very quietly.

If he was admitting it, they had a _real_ problem.

“Okay,” said Momma, her voice going brisk, “Tommy and Dad are gonna help you down the steps, and we’re gonna call the doctor,”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek, obviously unhappy.

“… Yes, ma’am,” he said anyway.

—

Dot was not losing it, but it was a close thing.

It was a very good thing Logan was so much lighter than a human of the same size, because he hadn’t been able to walk down the steps. Larry had to pick him up and slowly carry him down the staircase while Logan mumbled half-hearted protests it was painfully obvious he couldn’t back up. And the trip down the stairs hadn’t done him any favors – the jostling must have been too much, because he’d thrown up in the kitchen trash can immediately after.

Logan was shivering and too warm and so clearly miserable it made frustrated tears well in Dot’s eyes. It looked like the flu, or it _would_ if it weren’t for all those bright streaks of color.

She and Larry kept exchanging worried looks while they waited for Dr. Sherwood. It was no human sickness, whatever it was. Dot half wondered if it would make any difference to show him to Dr. Sherwood at all, but she’d shook her head and ignored it every time.

Unfortunately, the pessimistic thought had been the right one.

Dr. Sherwood technically didn’t make house calls, and he literally didn’t make them for anyone but Logan. Dot appreciated it, but Sherwood obviously didn’t have the faintest idea what was wrong with her son.

Even if they went to the hospital and checked him in, it wasn’t like he could give Logan an IV to help with the fact that he was so dehydrated from being sick – because that first episode had set Logan off, and now he was throwing up every half hour like clockwork.

Larry was in the corner, speaking with Dr. Sherwood in hushed, frustrated tones. Thomas had sat on the opposite end of the couch from Dot, Logan’s feet in his lap, and Dot sat on Logan’s other side, holding his hand and stroking his hair.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?” said Dot, ducking her head to hear Logan’s croaky voice better.

Logan furrowed his brow, his lip wobbling, and Dot let out a heartbroken noise in response.

“My head hurts,” he said, quiet and plaintive.

“Oh, baby,” said Dot, leaning down to kiss his forehead, “I know, I’m so sorry. We’ll figure it out honey, don’t worry,”

Logan’s shoulders shook, but he didn’t cry, instead pressing his face into her stomach and squeezing his eyes shut.

A cheerful knock that was totally out of place in the scene came from the front door, and Dot could have smacked herself.

She’d forgotten Roman was coming over – and she’d been so worried she hadn’t thought to call and tell him Logan was sick.

Larry turned toward it, calling for Roman to come in. Smiling when he opened it, Roman’s expression immediately dropped upon seeing all of the in the living room, but mostly seeing Logan, wrapped in layers of blankets, sweaty and feverish.

“ _Roman,_ ” Logan croaked, sitting up and sort of half-lurching toward his boyfriend.

And then Virgil burst out from the staircase.

“Jesus, Mary, and _Joseph!_ ” Dot exclaimed, pressing her hand to her chest.

Virgil had the decency to look sheepish.

Roman hurried over to Logan, kneeling by the couch, and Virgil followed, wringing his hands in a motion that could only be described as _fretting._

Gary Sherwood, M.D, for his part, had frozen like a deer in headlights.

Patting him on the arm, Larry leaned in and muttered something Dot couldn’t quite make out. It didn’t seem to help.

But their conversation had gotten Virgil’s attention; even as he sank down beside Roman, he glared over his shoulder at Dr. Sherwood.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Be polite, honey,” Dot muttered.

Virgil looked like he swallowed a lemon.

“Morning,” he ground out, “Who are you?”

Well. It was an attempt.

Dr. Sherwood glanced around the room, shuffling awkwardly.

“… The doctor,” he finally said.

Virgil narrowed his eyes.

“What use is a mortal doctor for a fae?”

Roman elbowed him sharply.

“Babe,” he muttered, exasperated.

“You are being kinda prickly, man,” Thomas laughed.

Virgil struggled for several seconds.

“I apologize,” he managed, not even looking at Dr. Sherwood when he said it.

Logan didn’t seem to care – he’d tipped his head forward to press his face against Virgil’s chest and caught Roman’s hand in a white-knuckled grip, clinging to the both of them.

Dr. Sherwood bristled a little.

“Well, I’m all he’s had,” he said a little sharply.

Virgil’s lips pursed in frustration.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, “But you don’t have to stay. I’ll find an actual healer,”

Roman stared beseechingly at the ceiling, and Logan and Thomas both giggled, Thomas a little nervously and Logan delirious.

Dr. Sherwood didn’t immediately take the offered escape, and the hesitation made Dot’s heart swell a little with gratitude. He’d almost always been out of his depth with Logan, confused and never _really_ knowing what he ought to be doing as a doctor for a changeling child.

But he’d always tried. He’d always done his best, and it was more than almost anyone else in town had done, and Dot was always going to be grateful.

“Will the… healer need his medical records?” said Sherwood.

Virgil’s face turned considering, a little less clueless condescension, and he gave Sherwood a look that was much less scathing.

“It could be useful,” he said.

Dr. Sherwood nodded.

“What’s one more broken law between us all?” he said dryly.

And Virgil actually _laughed,_ which, of course, didn’t make Sherwood a _bit_ less nervous, because Virgil’s laugh could be just as unsettling as it could be endearing.

But the doctor gave them all an awkward thumbs up, said he’d be back later with the papers, and beat a hasty retreat that was just shy of fleeing. He’d done a pretty good job of not freaking out, all things considered.

Which was about the time the Dot realized that Virgil was about to either invite a fae stranger into her house – healer or not – or try to take Logan off into fairyland, and neither option was doing anything to lower Dot’s blood pressure.

But if it was what Logan _needed…_

Well. Dot supposed they could all just deal.

—

Logan had been so clearly, _painfully_ distressed by Virgil trying to leave that it would have been funny if it hadn’t made Roman low-key want to cry.

He hadn’t _said_ it, of course, but the naked panic in his expression when Virgil had started pulling away had been easy to decipher. Virgil had pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, looking equally pained at the idea of leaving Logan when Logan would obviously prefer him to do literally anything else.

“I’ll be _right back,_ ” he said, firm and solemn, “And I’ll bring Patton back with me. I won’t be gone long at all,”

Haltingly, Logan had released his hand, and when Virgil had disappeared into the shadow in the corner of the room, he’d pressed his face to the arm of the couch and breathed deep and hard like someone was sitting on his chest.

Roman’s heart could barely handle it.

He should probably be embarrassed that he’d so utterly panicked when he’d seen Logan that Virgil had come running before Roman had even _actually_ known what was going on, but if it eventually wound up with Logan getting better under a fey healer’s care he figured his ego could take the hit.

Mrs. Sanders had gotten up to make soup; the smell was familiar, and Roman wondered if she knew Mamaw’s recipe was a potion as well as a meal, and if it would work the same if she _didn’t_ know and also wasn’t a witch. Roman had taken her place, cradling Logan’s head in his lap and gently stroking his hair, trying not to let his gaze linger on the strange, bright streaks all over his skin.

They weren’t raised and they didn’t seem painful when Roman touched them, but they made Roman hyperaware that something was _wrong_ with Logan and that none of them knew what it was – even Virgil had said he had no idea what was happening to him.

When Virgil came back, Patton was already moving nearly the second they appeared, rushing over and cupping Logan’s face and peppering his cheeks and nose with kisses. Logan let out a relieved sigh that sounded like he was slipping into a cool river on a hot day, and Patton crooned sympathetically at him.

“Oh, _sweetie,_ you’re burning up,” he said plaintively, “I’m so sorry you’re sick,”

“You are hardly at fault,” said Logan, voice rough.

“Still,” said Patton.

Roman raised a questioning eyebrow at Virgil, who seemed to understand what he was asking without words.

“I sent Bell after someone,” he said.

“Someone?” said Mr. Sanders dryly, calling through the door from the kitchen where he was helping his wife.

Virgil’s mouth quirked up in a small, wry smile.

“I didn’t want to grab just anyone,” he said, “No telling who might take advantage of Logan being sick, and I still don’t know quite as much as Bell about the court nowadays,”

He sat on the arms of the couch and reached down to stroke Logan’s cheek.

“Bell likes you,” he addressed Logan, “She won’t bring anyone who might hurt you,”

“I trust Bell’s judgment,” Logan replied.

“Horrible plan,” joked Roman.

“Maybe if we’re talking about shenanigans,” said Patton, tapping at Roman’s knee in an admonishing way, “But Bell wouldn’t mess around with anyone’s safety, you know that,”

“I do,” said Roman, “If I didn’t razz her though she’d think I don’t like her,”

About an hour went by. Logan’s parents tried – and failed – to get the soup in him, but Logan just couldn’t keep it down. Water worked only marginally better. The time passed with all of them in various states of quiet misery, and Roman’s relief when there was a knock at the back door was reflected in every face in the room.

Virgil answered it – Bell came in first, looking just a _touch_ awkward in a human house, which for her was the equivalent of hiding behind someone in embarrassment.

The fae woman who followed her in was a total stranger, which was actually a little surprising – Roman certainly didn’t _know_ every fae in the court, but nearly all of them looked at least a little familiar.

She was clearly Gentry, and probably Seelie, though _very_ short for one, only a little taller than Patton. Her skin was dark brown, her hair a similar shade shot through with strands of pale gold, and her eyes a cheerful amber.

Everybody was quiet for several seconds, like nobody knew what to say. After several beats of awkward silence, the fey woman inclined her head at the room.

“You may call me Sunny,” she said placidly.

Sunny glanced at Logan and then turned to Virgil, gesturing.

“May I?”

Virgil hesitated, but stepped to the side. Logan’s parents moved almost at once to flank the couch, and Sunny seemed almost amused.

She practically floated across the room, sitting on the coffee table.

“Hello, little spring,” she said sweetly, “Will you turn over and let me look at you?”

Roman felt Logan frown, but he did turn over, giving her a deeply suspicious look as he did so.

Sunny seemed outright startled.

“Oh,” she said, “Odd,”

“What’s odd?” said Mrs. Sanders immediately.

Sunny glanced at her.

“You are his mother?” she prompted.

“Yes,” said Dot.

Sunny smiled placatingly at her.

“Well,” she said, “I have good news. I am near certain he will be fine,”

She held out her hand to Logan.

“May I look closer, to be sure?”

He narrowed his eyes, but offered her his arm with a huff.

She examined it, nodding resolutely.

“Yes, fine,” she said, “It’s only mosaic virus. Perfectly normal for nymphs and sprites, they get it all the time,”

“I’ve never seen this,” said Virgil tightly.

Sunny smiled over her shoulder at him.

“Well, of course you haven’t,” she said, “That’s what’s odd. Only children get it, and I’ve never seen a fae this grown contract it. How often are you around nymph and sprite children, your highness?”

“I’m not a child,” grumbled Logan.

Sunny smiled at him.

“No,” she said, “You’ve grown very fast for a Green Man, but you are no seedling,”

She shrugged.

“But normally, you would have gotten it from other Seelie children while playing with them. Somehow I doubt you ever even saw one, when you were the size you ought to have caught it,”

Grinning over at Thomas, she gave him a little wink.

“You’re hardly going to catch mosaic from your mortal brother,”

Thomas beamed back, and Roman felt his own face crack a smile. Okay, sue him – he liked the Seelie woman.

“He’s a Spring,” said Sunny, her tone turning slightly more business-like, “He will need far more water than another season would for the same fever,”

“He can’t keep it down,” said Mr. Sanders.

“Mix it with something sweet,” she said, “Sugar, white or brown doesn’t matter. Maple syrup would be ideal, but I don’t know if mortals keep it-”

“We do,” said Larry, “Or- we can get it, anyway,”

“Good,” said Sunny, “That, then. And as much sunlight as you can get him. He should be fine in a few days, if miserable in the meantime. The colors will fade in… oh, about half a moon?”

“I am right here,” said Logan testily, “You do not have to talk about me as if I’m not present,”

Sunny laughed.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “Let your parents fuss, little Spring. It’s a privilege to annoy your children when they’re ill,”

Sunny grinned over at Bell, who’d been curiously silent the entire time.

“Isn’t it, Bella?”

Bell crossed her arms with a huff and said nothing.

“Oh, don’t pout!” said Sunny, “Really, was I so unbearable? I couldn’t have left you alone, especially when you caught that awful rash off that _sprite_ friend of yours-”

“ _Mother!_ ” said Bell shrilly, flushing.

“Right, right, ‘Shut up, mother,’” said Sunny sweetly, “Of course, what was I thinking? How could I embarrass my brave knight daughter in front of her liege-”

Virgil looked absolutely _delighted_ by this turn of events, and Roman was already outright cackling. Bell scowled at the ceiling, but then Logan let out a restrained little giggle of his own and Bell sighed, giving him a small smile.

“If you are quite done amusing everyone at my expense,” she deadpanned.

“I am,” said Sunny smugly.

“This is your _mom?_ ” exclaimed Roman, grinning.

“Obviously,” Bell scoffed, “Did you think I’d bring just anyone?”

“So you brought your _mother?_ ”

“Well, of course she did,” sniffed Sunny, “I am very competent, and hardly fool enough to pick on his highness’s favorite Spring,”

And then she booped Logan’s nose, laughing when it made Logan give her a cross-eyed scowl in response.

Rising from the coffee table, she breezed toward the back door.

“Get well soon, little Spring,” she said sweetly, “You keep our Unseelie in good tempers, I would hate to see the scowling if you’re ill too long,”

Bell took an embarrassed swipe at her mother, who dodged it expertly. Roman started composing various roasts in his head, because there was absolutely no way he was _ever_ letting Bell live this down.

Virgil followed them out the back door, and Roman turned his attention back to Logan, who watched Virgil go with a frown.

“I’m sure he’s just threatening Sunny,” said Roman dryly, “He’ll be right back, Specs, don’t worry,”

Logan looked like he was trying very hard not to pout, but he rolled over and snuggled his face into Roman’s stomach, fumbling for his hand.

Threading his fingers through Logan’s hair, Roman squeezed his hand back, and let himself relax.

Logan was going to be fine – and in the meantime, Roman was happy to take care of him.

—

Virgil had meant to pick on Bell when he’d followed them out, but when he’d seen her and her mother chattering in low tones, both of them grinning, he’d found he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He supposed being fond of his captain of the guard was better than the alternative.

“I don’t think I have to tell you not to share this with anyone,” said Virgil, trying to keep his voice light enough not to outright terrify her but solemn enough that she got the point.

“And yet you just have,” said Sunny, smiling at him, not unkindly, “Don’t worry, Your Highness. I have no interest in being monumentally stupid about your fondest for Springs and mortals,”

“Good,”

“Am I free to go?” she said lightly, “I would like to have a bath, so I don’t spread a round of mosaic to every nymph child I come across for the rest of the day,”

Virgil nodded, waving his hand, and Sunny gave him a grateful bow at the waist that made Virgil only deeply uncomfortable before walking off, waving at Bell as she went.

Virgil turned to Bell, and she spoke before he could even open his mouth.

“I have no intention of doing anything but walking in circles around the property for the next week,” she said dryly, “Do you want me to do it myself, or are additional knights acceptable?”

“Actually,” said Virgil, “I’d prefer if you just distracted everyone, so nobody notices _I’m_ here,”

Bell looked surprised for a moment, and then nodded to herself as if she’d understood.

“Should have expected that,” she muttered, “Distraction it is. Am I allowed to bring other knights in on _that_ , then?”

“Just don’t tell anyone he’s sick,” said Virgil, “Other than that, use your judgment,”

Bell got a familiar funny look on her face, a sort of cheerful confusion that Virgil could never quite figure out the exact meaning of but that he usually got in response to giving Bell particularly vague directions. One of these days he was going to ask Roman about it.

She didn’t bow, which Virgil appreciated, just nodded her head and waited for Virgil to respond before walking off into the trees. As soon as she wasn’t facing him Virgil spun on his heel and rushed back into the house.

He heard Logan make an unhappy, questioning noise as Virgil opened the door. Virgil hurried to shut it behind him and return to the living room, where Logan was already reaching for him from the couch, his head in Roman’s lap and his legs across Thomas’s. Patton scooted over on the rug to make room for Virgil as he kneeled beside him.

“Hello, beloved,” Virgil said softly, running his thumb across the fever-warm swell of Logan’s cheek, wincing in sympathy when Logan pressed into the coolness of his hand with a whine.

“I’m back,” Virgil continued, “I won’t leave you again,”

Virgil heard Dot make a fond, exasperated noise from the kitchen, and while he did feel just a touch sheepish that he hadn’t actually asked either of Logan’s parents before saying that, it was impossible to actually regret it when he saw the sheer relief in Logan’s expression.

Virgil leaned in to meet his lips but Logan lurched backward, frowning.

“M’sick” he muttered, “You shouldn’t kiss me. Germs,”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

“I’m not Seelie, L,” he laughed, “I’m not going to catch your germs,”

Logan just frowned deeper, eyes darting away and his face flushed – with fever or embarrassment, Virgil couldn’t quite tell.

“Specs?” prompted Roman, patting Logan gently on the arm.

“… I’m _gross,_ ” huffed Logan finally, “I am- sticky, and snotty, and- I do not want you to be grossed out,”

“Oh, _honey!_ ” exclaimed Patton before Virgil could even open his mouth, “You could never be gross! No matter how snotty you get I still want to kiss you, of course!”

“I don’t know whether to ‘ew’ or ‘aw?’” said Thomas with a confused, disgusted expression.

“I second dear Patton-cake’s assessment,” said Roman, “You are as kissable as ever, snot or not,”

“If you don’t want me to kiss you, I won’t,” said Virgil, “But I don’t mind. I could never mind – I love you,”

“Still not sure but leaning towards ‘ew,’” laughed Thomas. Logan kicked him, and his flush was definitely embarrassment now.

“… A. Small kiss,” he mumbled, “Would be- pleasant,”

Virgil leaned in, placing a feather-light peck on Logan’s lips before retreating. Logan visibly relaxed, and Virgil couldn’t help but press another to his forehead, gently combing his fingers through Logan’s hair as Logan sighed happily.

“Can I sleep?” he slurred.

“Of course, Sick Jonas,” said Roman, who was tracing shapes into Logan’s stomach over his t-shirt, “We’ll stay right here,”

“M’kay,”

It seemed like only moments later that Logan was out cold, his breath thick and congested in slumber.

They all sat for several minutes, and when it seemed like he wouldn’t wake up, Patton stood abruptly.

“Pat?” said Virgil, curious.

Patton had a glint of determination in his eyes as he settled his hands on his hips with a firm nod.

“O-kay,” he said, quiet and solemn, “Mr. and Mrs. Sanders already have the soup covered but Sunny said we need sugar water, too - I can make that. Verge, honey, can you go raid the linen closet?”

“What for?” said Virgil, rising to his feet.

Patton looked a little wry.

“I give him twenty-four hours of bed-rest before he tries to make a break for it,” he said, still quiet, “I feel like if we make a super comfy blanket fort we might make it to thirty-six,”

“Oh, goodness gracious, you’re right,” said Thomas, his expression showing dawning horror, “He’s gonna be impossible to keep in one spot. I’ll go find some puzzles,”

“Oh, heck no,” said Patton, pointing firmly, “ _You_ two are gonna stay right there and keep our favorite silly Seelie _still_ ,”

“Also a good plan,” conceded Thomas.

“Go Team Take-Care-Of-Logan?” said Patton, a little brighter.

Virgil felt his heart give a little tremble of fondness, and he nodded, kissing Patton on the temple.

“Go team,”

—

The rest of their day passed in a blur of cold compresses and sugar water, lukewarm soup and enough pillows to arm a whole battalion of pillow fighters.

It didn’t take any rocket science for Patton to figure out that Logan’s recurring anxiety about not knowing exactly where all his favorite people were had dialed itself up to eleven and broken off the knob. His parents leaving to go buy maple syrup had been obviously pushing it, and Patton, Virgil, Roman, or Thomas leaving the room seemed to make him borderline panic.

Not that Logan was _saying_ any of that. Once they’d gotten enough of the sugar water and then soup in him and set up a blanket fort so the big front windows spilled light right across it, Logan had clearly started to feel a little better.

Patton had been way overestimating him when he’d given him twenty-four hours.

The longer the afternoon went on, the harder Logan tried to stalwartly pretend everything was hunky-dory and peachy keen, insisting through all-but-gritted teeth that they weren’t “obligated” to “babysit” him, because he was in his heart of hearts just a bit of a goof, and Patton loved him to bits even if it made him huff in affectionate frustration.

The four of them all cheerfully ignored Logan’s poorly hidden attempts to be self-sacrificing. Virgil had reclined against the couch and a mountain of pillows and arranged Logan in his lap, softly placing his hands against Logan’s feverish skin and moving to a new spot every so often. Thomas had draped himself on _Logan’s_ chest, being by far the best of them at squishing his brother – _probably practice_ , Patton thought, amused – and Patton and Roman had taken up spots on either side of their little pile, occasionally getting up to quickly fetch more sugar water when the huge liter bottle Thomas had dug out from the back of a cupboard ran out.

“This is not necessary,” mumbled Logan, even as he made no move to unearth his face from Thomas’s hair.

“It really is though,” said Roman, amused.

“I will…”

Logan paused, clearly trying to think of something he could truthfully say. The fever must have made him slower than usual

“… Most likely recover at the same rate whether I am- inconveniencing all of you or not,”

“Weak,” said Roman softly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind Logan’s ear and grinning when Logan immediately leaned into it, seeking the touch, “‘Most likely?’ It’s like you aren’t even trying to sell it, sugar, you can do better than that,”

Logan pouted adorably at him, and Roman just brushed a self-satisfied peck to his cheek, smiling smugly.

Thomas huffed, bonking his head inelegantly to the underside of Logan’s chin.

“You’re not bothering us, Berry,” he said, for the third time in the past two hours, “Let us coddle you. It’s only gonna get worse when Mom and Dad get back so you might as well accept your fate,”

“There are no ‘Get Out Of Snuggles Free’ cards in this particular board game,” said Patton, booping Logan on the nose.

Logan scowled petulantly.

“But-”

Virgil moved, sudden and fluid, pressing his palm to the back of Logan’s neck. Instantly, Logan let out an audible sigh, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes, like someone had soothed him with a cold compress.

“We’re going to take care of you, love,” Virgil said firmly.

Logan wavered, obviously deliberating, and finally slumped.

“Gee,” joked Patton, booping him again, “Who knew all these years, we were only one person short of how many we needed to get Logan to accept hovering. It’s a miracle,”

“You’re picking on me when I’m _sick_ ,” grumbled Logan.

“A little,” teased Patton, “ _But,_ if you promise to let us take care of you, I’ll promise to stop teasing you about it,”

Virgil gave a full-body twitch and a half-hearted glare in Patton’s, direction, but Logan-

Logan looked up at Patton with liquid silver eyes, as wide and vulnerable as they’d been the very first time Patton met him, when Patton had helped him up off the ground and held his soft, cool hands in his own for the first time. Like Patton had done something magical and awe-inspiring, rather than just what anybody should have done.

“… Okay,” said Logan softly, “I promise,”

Patton felt the glitter of the magic rather than saw it, his breath catching in his chest.

“Oh, sweetie,” he said thickly, “Okay. We’re gonna take such good care of you honey, I promise,”

Logan relaxed like someone had lifted a physical weight off his shoulders, and Patton’s heart gave one huge _throb_ of fondness in his chest. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Logan’s forehead, and Logan made a tired, pleased little noise, his head falling back to rest on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Go to sleep, Berry,” said Thomas quietly, squirming ever so slightly to readjust himself.

“Hmm,” said Logan, which Thomas seemed to take as agreement, because he laid his head on Logan’s shoulder and closed his own eyes, settling down for them both to nap. Virgil reached over to pat Thomas affectionately on the back of the head before returning to holding Logan.

Patton certainly wouldn’t say that he _enjoyed_ the next week, long days filled with potion-soup and sticky-sweet maple syrup mixed with ice water, a feverishly bright-eyed Logan coughing and occasionally getting sick into the bucket beside him only to hide his face in embarrassment afterwards.

But the first time Logan woke from a fever dream and groggily asked if someone could help him sit up, Patton knew it was some kind of victory.

So Patton did, and he kissed him, and Logan smiled like he knew exactly what Patton was thinking.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You are very welcome, honey,” said Patton, knowing neither one of them was _quite_ just talking about untangling Logan from his blanket prison.

Patton handed Logan the faintly golden bottle of syrup water and Logan took a grateful sip of it.

“I don’t like being sick,” he mumbled.

“I’ll bet,” said Patton sympathetically. Logan looked around the room, relaxing a little when he caught sight of Virgil and Roman through the kitchen doorway – he tilted his head curiously, like he was listening for something, and then slumped by another degree. Patton suspected he’d been trying to hear where his parents and Thomas were in the house.

“… But-” he blurted.

Cutting off abruptly, Logan bit his lip, giving Patton a shy look.

“But what, cupcake?”

Huffing a laugh at the goofy nickname, Logan leaned forward and tucked his face into Patton’s neck.

“It’s- better, I think,” he whispered, “With all of you. Thank you for… insisting,”

Swallowing thickly, Patton found he was a little too overwhelmed to talk.

Instead, he smiled, leaning forward to pepper kisses all over his wonderful, perfect, sweet, precious boyfriend, making over-exaggerated kissy noises in his ears and not stopping even when Logan started giggling at the tickly ones to his neck and chin.

Patton was pretty sure Sunny would have told them if they could cure mosaic with true loves’ kisses, but, well-

Would it really hurt to try?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on [tumblr](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com) and [discord](https://discord.gg/FgF3gp2)


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